Although they had been glad, if they were being honest, that it was Dahlia who had to face off against Lizzie today, and not them. That they had had the good fortune of being paired with Cath. Who had kicked their ass in the Face-Off, assembling her California rolls way faster—London had been too concerned about being neat with them—and punched their arm in victory when the timer buzzed. Their arm was still a little sore, actually, but it had made them laugh.
It was true, though, what they had told Dahlia last night about Lizzie. They just needed some space to get over the meet-and-greet dinner. You couldn’t let transphobes keep you down forever.
“Yeah.” Dahlia nodded, her brow furrowing. “She was so nice to me.” She was still hugging her notebook to her chest. “It was irritating.”
A small smile crept onto London’s face.
“I know what the first secret ingredient is, for the innovation challenge,” Dahlia said a few seconds later, changing subjects abruptly. London was almost getting used to it now, never knowing what Dahlia was going to say next. “I saw a crew member moving some stuff around.”
“Really?” London turned to her. “What is it?”
If Dahlia were a smart competitor, she wouldn’t even be telling them this. But she opened her mouth without hesitation. “Spam.”
“Huh.” London turned back to the spice cabinet, their mind already whirring. “That seems like a bit of a softball. Spam’s easy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They stood for another few moments in silence, until London started to feel awkward. “All right, I’m going to head back out there.” They motioned behind their shoulder with their thumb. “You just going to stand here staring at this thing until they call us back?”
Dahlia nodded. “Yep.”
London stuck their hands in their pockets and tried to hide another grin. On a whim, they turned back to her once they’d reached the pantry doorway.
“Hey, Dahlia?”
“Yeah?” She finally tore her eyes from the card catalog to look over at them.
“Good luck.”
They only allowed themself the briefest of glances at her smile before they turned and walked back to their station.
Where they had the misfortune of overhearing a conversation between Jacob and Jeffrey, who were standing at Dahlia’s station in front of them.
“This is what I’m saying.” Jeffrey, a balding white man from Texas, was gesturing emphatically. “America needs to get up to speed on the insect scene. We’re entirely too cocky about our proteins here.”
“Exactly,” Jacob said. “When I was in Brazil last year, I had these beetles . . .”
London glanced back toward the pantry, wondering if they should go back and ponder the spice cabinet with Dahlia a minute more.
London agreed, honestly, about eating more insects. But it was the way these people talked. All around them, all morning long, London had overheard other contestants boasting to each other about cooking accomplishments they’d already achieved, the most exotic dishes they’d ever prepared, the places around the world they had dined in. London had grown up around people like this, people who overvalued their own importance. Had grown tired of them, long ago.
A part of them daydreamed about dragging Dahlia to the side of the set. Complaining about everyone else in the room together. Did she also hate Jacob? Because the dude seemed like a real drag. London had lucked out, they thought, with Ahmed as a tablemate.
The set felt surprisingly like high school, all this posturing around strangers. Ahmed and Cath were the only people London felt comfortable around so far, the only people they’d want to sit with in the cafeteria.
Along with, they admitted to themself, the woman with the infuriating hair who had declared them a jerk.
They couldn’t exactly explain it. But it had felt, for a moment last night, and for a minute just now in the pantry, like maybe they were on the same side. Made for the same lunch table.
And London longed, suddenly, to see Dahlia roll her eyes at someone who wasn’t them.
They shook their head, mentally blocked out the voices of Jacob and Jeffrey.
This wasn’t high school. It was a competition. One that was televised, and London had to start really paying attention now. Dahlia was a competitor, not a science project partner. She could stay in the pantry. London would keep their grumbling to themself.
They took out their notebook from their back pocket.
And started to make some serious plans for Spam.
CHAPTER FOUR